OneSided
by x.Dancing.Queen.x
Summary: Emily is nothing but a maid in the Doyle household, but Kartik occupies her thoughts day and night. He makes her work bearable, yet he knows nothing of her affections for him. When Emily discovers the love between Gemma and Kartik, she is torn. :
1. Discovered

**This is just a little something that I thought up. Please enjoy the very first A Great and Terrible Beauty fanfiction written from Emily's view! If you don't know who she is, either check the books or ask me.**

* * *

I fight a yawn as it strains upwards through my throat, making my eyes water slightly. Blinking away the wetness, I hug myself tightly and wish that I could return to my bed, however pitiful it is.

But Miss Gemma's needs come before mine, so I am bound to the duty of waking her each and every morning, not to mention dressing her as well. I begin to climb the stairs, biting my lip nervously. Miss Gemma stormed back into the house last night, leaving a wake of destruction in her path. The girl had been furious, and yet no one could discern why.

Her grandmother, who basically raised both children, had asked her repeatedly what was wrong, but Miss Gemma was tight-lipped.

I'm wary of my unpredictable charge as I open her door slowly, slipping into the room with a practiced silence. I don't bother to wake her up directly, just move about the room, throwing curtains open and letting light spill onto her sleeping form, which is layered in blankets.

I watch as her emerald eyes drift open, looking at her beauty unsurely as I do every morning.

"Wake up, Miss Gemma. It's late in the morning."

She moans and I see her limbs stretching beneath the covers, ridding her body of stiffness and aches. She rolls over in an attempt to escape the light and meets another beam shining in from the opposite window. She groans louder and mutters, "Bloody hell."

I ignore her cursing as usual and speak up again.

"Miss Gemma, please."

She glares at me sleepily and I look away immediately, finding that I am not bold enough to hold her gaze. My meek nature befits me perfectly as a maid, and yet I find myself trying not to seem so compliable all the time. I see Miss Worthington, who is too daring by half, as she acts totally outrageous, and I wish feverently that I may have a spark of her individuality.

Yet I remain unmemorable, obedient, and worst of all, absolutely unnoticable. No one thinks of me at all, not even Kartik, the kind and dashing coachmen I have developed a fancy for. He has been the only one to speak openly to me, and has even taught me to read, which was my greatest dream as a child. And yet, though he is so wonderful to me, Kartik thinks of me as nothing but a child. He could never look my way romantically, and I wonder what sort of girl could ever capture him as he has done to me.

I shamefully catch myself dreaming of his dark eyes and witty humour, something that has woken me many times in the night. His face begins to enchant me once again and I pull myself away from my own thoughts as Miss Gemma swings her legs out of bed and stands up uncertainly, wavering on the spot. I am poised to rush to her side as she swoons and then straightens.

Her tall figure rises to it's full height, and her waterfall of fire flows down her back freely. I look on as she runs a hand through her mane, a gesture that reminds me of Kartik.

I shake my head and become purposefully buried in the task of dressing and readying Miss Gemma, who stands through the whole process like a stage prop. Finally, I tighten the last string on her dress and she sweeps out of the doorway, rushing down the stairs at an alarming pace. I follow her more carefully, watching as one of her titian curls bounces free from her bun and lands prettily in front of her eyes. She brushes it away and begins her day, leaving me behind as the girl who will undress her once she has returned from living as a lady of London.

* * *

Kartik is reading from a familiar old book when I approach him in the stables. He looks up at me and grins charmingly from under dark curls. Blush rushes to my cheeks and I fight it valiantly.

"Hello, Emily."

I swallow and reply in what I hope is a casual tone.

"Hello, Mr. Kartik."

He closes his book and sets it beside him on a pile of straw, stretching his arms over his head. I see the toned muscles rippling throughout his body and focus on his face so that I do not flush again. Kartik looks at me mysteriously and says, "Well, what is our Gemma up to this fine morning?"

I giggle at the use of her informal name, one that I will never call her to her face. It simply makes me feel brave when I say that in front of Kartik.

"She is doing well, as usual."

Kartik smiles and then asks a strange question.

"Has she calmed down from her fit?" I nod and look towards the ceiling exasperatedly.

"Yes, it would seem so."

Kartik looks pleased for some odd reason, and glances towards the house.

"I suppose I shall have to take her into town this afternoon." I don't know what to say to that, and curse my wits as I let the silence reign over us. I should have said something smart and alluring, but instead I sat there like a dumb rabbit and let the find oppurtunity float away like so many others. It seems that he is about to say something when we hear footsteps approaching.

Miss Gemma herself enters the stables, commanding the attention of every being there, including the horses, who stare at her comically, straw hanging out of their loose lips. She doesn't notice me and begins to speak, her attention directed to Kartik.

"Kartik, I've something to-"

Suddenly she sees me, and breaks off, her mouth slightly open.

"I mean, er-" she struggles to rephrase and finally settles for, "What I meant to say was, Mr. Kartik, I do believe that Ginger has gained uneccessary mass of late and should be exercised more frequently."

Kartik looks at her seriously and replies, "Of course, Miss Doyle."

I see something in his eyes that I cannot name, but it seems totally out of place here, being directed at her. I cough a little and edge out of the stables, scurrying back to the house like an insect. What had just happened?

I still cannot make sense of Miss Gemma's strange beginning, which probably would not have involved Ginger's weight in the slightest, had she continued and remained ignorant to my presence. I curse myself yet again and set to work washing dishes, pondering my mistress's strange behaviour over the day.

Hours later, I am pouring the family their tea as they sit down for supper. Sadly, Mr. Doyle is holed up in his study, wasting away with his bottle. I am careful not to mention his addiction to anyone I meet, because though I don't love the family I work for, I could never cause someone as much grief as it would put them through to be exposed to society. Now they sit as an uncomplete family of three, total opposites from each other.

The old, refined woman is prim and sharp, sitting like a solemn flower at the head of the table. Her granddaughter is frazzed and wild, raditating untamed beauty like a powerhouse. Thomas looks annoyed and bored of his family, and I know that he hopes to escape the household as soon as possible in order to find a suitable woman to court.

He has given the idea that all he desires is a simple, rich wife, but I know of at least one occasion on which he has turned down suitable women. Perhaps they were not quite stupid enough to meet his needs.

I struggle to keep my eyes on the floor as my employers dine sophisticatedly. Miss Gemma manages not to pick at her food at usual and actually eats like a proper lady, leaving just enough on her plate to seem lady-like. Her grandmother eats even less and Tom robotically uses his fork like a shovel, his back straining not to slump.

Eventually they finish and I clear their dishes off of the table, carrying my great stack of china into the kitchen. Opening the door with difficulty, I totter slightly as the load becomes unbalanced, and then right myself with a sigh of relief. If I had let all those beautiful plates and glasses fall to the floor, everey one would have smashed thunderously into a thousand pieces.

Mrs. Jones shakes her head at me as I rush into the warm room and slide everything I can into the sink.

"Be careful, my girl," she warns and I nod distractedly, already thinking of when I will go to the stables as I do every night. Kartik and I talk about anything and everything. We used to read, when he was still teaching me how. Now I have scoured through _The Odyssey _too many times to count, and we scarcely bring it out from under the pile of straw Kartik keeps it hidden under for the day.

I absentmindedly slip a dirty dish out of the sink without cleaning it properly and Mrs. Jones silently replaces it in the warm soapy water. I think that she will not mention it, but after a long stretch she says quietly, "Emily, you need to stop daydreaming. One day it will cost you your job."

I shrug and glance at her briefly. She is standing with her hands on her hips, looking at me with a touch of pity, but mostly she is just shrugging it off and moving to dry the dishes I am restacking on top of the counter.

"My job does me no good, anyway. I would be better off working downtown, or travelling with the Gypsies." My last few words are wistful, and I almost close my eyes and begin imagining what it would be like. Mrs. Jones's skeptical snort draws me back to reality.

"You need to stop listening to that Kartik. His tales won't help you none, and if you want my opinion, they're all lies."

I hear how she says his name, like it is a curse.

"I think that they are charming," I answer dutifully.

Her eyes turn to the ceiling and a little smile begins to form on that seasoned, kind face.

"You think that _he_ is charming."

I blush madly and try to hide the crimson that is covering my face quickly.

"No," I say weakly. "That's not it."

She grins wider now.

"Yes, it is." I do not object and she goes on.

"Foolish girl. He will never look at you."

I furrow my brows and tell myself that she is lying just to make me feel bad, but Mrs. Jones loves me like a daughter. She simply doesn't wish for me to be hurt.

"You're wrong." She decides not to answer and finishes her job while I am drying my pruned hands. Then she goes to work on some other chore and I am left to my own devices. What I am to do in my free time is obvious, and I leave the kitchen with thoughts of Kartik. It is shameful that I think of him so, and I force my excitement down so I do not arrive in front of him frazzled and blushing.

Stopping before I leave the house, I take a deep breath and adjust my dress, which is pointless anyway. Then I push out the door and head towards the stables at a brisk walk, pursing my lips and working my jaw into relaxation. As I near the door I give my shoulders one final shake and grasp the old metal handle. Just as I'm about to open the door, I hear an out-of-place sound coming from where I usually find Kartik.

Someone is laughing. Not laughing, but giggling breathlessly. I listen apprehensively as it continues, finally stopping as I hear someone shushing quietly at whoever was giggling. Thinking that someone simply had an embarrassing fall and an impolite stable hand could not help from laughing at them, I am about to go inside when another sound reaches my ears. One that _definitely _should not be here.

A soft moaning is seeping through the door, mingling with deeper, more guttural noises. They are certainly male and female voices, and I begin to frown as I wonder who could be in there and exactly what they were doing.

Grasping the handle firmly, I pull the door wide open and walk inside, letting it swing shut behind me. I expect to see something, but as I look around it is only the horses that stare blankly back at me, chewing their evening meal lazily. I stand there for a moment, and begin to think that I have imagined the noises or that they were not coming from inside the stables at all. But then a sigh, fat with emotion, reaches my ears.

It is coming from Kartik's quarters- well, rather it is coming from the space that he shares with two other stable hands and three small beds.

I round the wall that leads to this place and finally come to the source of what I had been hearing.

A flash of crimson is the first thing that my eyes register, contrasting with pale freckled skin and a dress as white as a water lily. Miss Gemma is pressed against a man dressed in stable hand clothing; a thin cotton shirt and work trousers. I can't see her face because of her hair, which is completely down as it is at night, and because her face is tilted away from me- not to mention pressed with another.

The man's skin is a familiarly rich tone, and as I watch as his hand moves up to her waist. Her small hand moves from it's position around his neck and slips up his shirt where I cannot see it any longer. Their lips merge together in a lover's battle that I have never experienced, and a rich groan is elicted from the man. I recognize the voice that is coated heavily with lust.

My mouth opens in shock and I am about to make some frightened noise when they break apart slightly for a breath and I see his face. That proud jaw and large, chocolate eyes. His sweet dark curls fall in front of his face and my brain finally puts the pieces fully together.

Kartik.

Finally a loud gasp finds it's way out of my throat, as I stand fully erect in absolute shock. The two shoot apart, too late.

They look around frantically and spot me, standing frozen in the darkening stable. Their eyes are nearly as wide as mine and I look between them, trying to tell myself that what I had just seen wasn't true. I see them exchange a glance, looking uneasy, and then Kartik begins to speak.

"Emily..."

I know that he is trying to calm me, but all I can do is stare at his bruised lips as they form words that my ears reject.

"No, no, no!" I whisper urgently, finding that I can't stop myself. "_No._"

They look at me, unsure.

"Emily," Kartik starts, "It's not what you think."

I feel anger building up and direct it stubbornly at Miss Gemma, since I am refusing to admit even to myself that Kartik has nothing in his heart for me.

"How can it not be?" I snap bitterly. "That was completely indecent!"

Miss Gemma is blushing almost as dark as I am now, and I glare at her. She doesn't have anything to say for herself at first, but then, "Er- Emily, I don't suppose you could, ah, keep this to yourself? Just for a little while?"

I am about to refuse and run to ruin her reputation when I glance fleetingly at Kartik and see his pleading expression. He is deeply sorry, and I see that maybe he could have a spot of affection for me after all, just not romantic affection. He reminds me that if I tell Miss Gemma's grandmother, I will have to tell which stable hand was dirtying her granddaughter.

He could be killed. I shake my head and look at him.

I cannot kill the man I love, even if he is not mine.


	2. Hated

**Sorry that this took so long. Enjoy! **

**:)**

* * *

I glare discreetly at Miss Gemma as she sits next to the finest young gentleman in England.

The Middleton family has been invited to the Doyle household for dinner in an attempt to fix the huge rift that was opened between them when Miss Gemma refused Simon's hand.

The two sit side by side, Simon being the more relaxed of the two. He seems completely ready to propose to Gemma once more, yet she remains unrecieving and cold. The message she conveys is obvious, but apparently Simon is not ready to give up just yet.

"So, Miss Doyle, how has your finishing school been treating you?"

"Fine, thank you."

He beams at her and she ignores the notion completely.

"I'm glad to hear it." I could swear that Gemma's lips move a little bit and a mutter escapes, but no one else notices and they continue with the dreadful conversation, which involves the marketing in London. I have no knowledge of these things, and so my gaze remains fixed on Gemma, who I hate more than anyone in the entire world.

Here she sits, a totally innocent facade sheltering her true nature from everyone but me. In truth, she is a horrid thief who specializes in the taking of men. I scowl at her openly, attracting an alarmed look from Mrs. Jones. She pinches my arm, hard. The painful contact jolts me back from my black thoughts and I glance at her with embarrassment.

My friend is tutting slowly and quietly, shaking her head and looking up as if to ask God what has gotten into me.

"Emily," she hisses, keeping her voice low and beneath the volume that could be heard by our English employers and their guests. "Put away that sour expression. You are a maid, not an exocutioner."

Harsh words bubble up, and I try to bite them off, to no avail.

"At this point, I would much rather be the latter."

I glare daggers at Miss Gemma, who is currently ignoring Simon's light-hearted jokes. She stares into space, no doubt fantasizing about the man I love. Mrs. Jones grasps my arm firmly and attempts to squeeze some sense into me.

"Emily! Stop this foolishness, now. You mustn't let whatever it is ruin your job. Do you hear me?" Reluctantly, I nod, and she shoots me a look that plainly states that I shall inform her of my problem immediately after supper. Then she steps forward to serve Lord Denby, and I find that Mr. Doyle needs an extra beverage.

Seeing that he wishes for a bottle of his drink, I opt for filling his glass with wine, praying that I he will not throw a fit or refuse it and order me to fetch him more of his poisoning spirits. Thankfully, he accepts the liquid that I pour into his glass, though I can clearly see the craving that ravages his face. As I move away from the table, Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Doyle both shoot me their own looks of gratitude.

I inevitably catch that Gemma is looking at me as well, and she even has the gall to _smile _at me. Her expression is innocent and charming, making me wrestle down the urge to spit at her. Instead, I return the wine to it's rack and go about bringing the fine folk their food and cutlery like a well-trained housemaid.

I stay out of their sights as much as possible, and fill my mind with wonderful ideas, mostly involving horrible accidents that happen to befall Miss Gemma and scar her beautiful body until Kartik cannot love her any longer.

Yet, does he truly love her, even now? Perhaps he is simply playing with the fine English girl, for I cannot imagine that he could truly love her, not with all of the rubbish about the English that he manages to slip into every conversation.

Dying hope springs forward in my chest, but then I look upon Gemma for a mere second and it crumbles into dust. She is perfect. Gemma is the vision of beauty, with a wild streak that has already attracted many suitors. For, if Simon Middleton has fallen for her, than an Indian could easily be entranced. As I watch she snubs Mr. Simon unendingly, causing a rather tense atmosphere to develop. The two families can hardly have decent conversation when she is so bluntly refusing every attempt at a joke or complement that is flung her way.

She answers some drab questions involving Spence, her finishing school, and I manage to catch that her grandmother had received a letter from the headmistress. I listen intently as she says politely that Spence's Academy for young ladies can hardly wait to receive Gemma when her short visiting time is done with. This clearly means that Gemma is expected back at her residential school quite soon, else she be released from her teaching.

I have suspected that she has been home too long. Not many days before I heard her pleading with her grandmother for another few days here, no doubt wanting more time with Kartik.

This information that she will soon leave is not much, but my heart leaps with joy. This means that one day soon, Miss Gemma Doyle will depart from this house, leaving Kartik here. With me.

I smile hesitantly as it all forms in my head. He will talk to me about how glad he is she has finally left him in peace, since he never wanted her company at all. We will share thoughts like before, and he will list all of the horrifying things about Gemma that make her so repulsive to him, and I will be none of those things. Then he will see this and sweep me into him with a spell-binding kiss.

I sigh at the thought of my first kiss. Kartik has always been the one I've imagined it with, and every time I see his full lips it's like I can already feel them on mine.

Pain shoots up my arm and I snap my eyes open, not even realizing that they had been closed. Mrs. Jones is glaring at me, her face set into stern lines. I feel a lecture coming on and move towards the table, where everyone has finished their meal. I clear away the plates as they drift into the luscious sitting room, chatting amiably, awkwardness forgotten.

I watch Gemma's back as she walks with Simon away from the group, see the eager expression that he wears, totally in vain. Or perhaps not.

If Gemma must leave, surely she will trade Kartik in for this fine gentleman. The tiny spark of hope that has been struck up in my chest grows once more to a long burning flame.

Kartik and I can still be together. It is a strange, thin hope, but hope nonetheless.

This time I bring the dishes away without even a wobble, and I am feeling quite well about myself until Mrs. Jones begins badgering me.

"What had you so sad earlier?" she asks sharply, though the answer was clear enough. "It's that Kartik, I know it."

I nod slightly and continue washing even though his name stirs something in my gut that makes my get a little dizzy. In a second I come crashing down from whatever wonderful place I had been in. Mrs. Jones has a look on her that bodes no good.

"I'll guess what it was. It's him and that no good English girl, sneakin' around like it's proper."

I blanch as she says it, realizing that she has known longer than I. She shakes her head and says wisely, "It won't come to no good, you can bet on that."

I nod again and fight the tears that are rising for no good reason.

"She's evil," I blurt suddenly. "Just evil!"

Mrs. Jones has another look now, and it's soaking with pity. I hate that look, and I turn away so I can't see it and she can't see my tears.

"She could have any man in London, and- and...."

A little sob tears itself out of my throat and I hate it passionately, how weak I am.

"I know. I hear them all the time, giggling and groaning away. I see 'em slinkin' about in those stables.... and once," she says with a heightened sense of importance, "I saw that wily boy climbin' up to her window, I did."

She pauses and nods sadly, enjoying her gossip like every other old maid.

"And you can imagine what happened after that. It's a wonder they didn't wake the whole house, with their moanin' and screamin' and-" "

"_Stop it!!" _I scream, whirling on her like a storm.

"Just stop! You're not helping _one_ bit! I hate you, and I hate her, and _I hate him!_"

I drop the glass that I am holding into the sink carelessly, turning on my heel and nearly running out of the kitchen. I can hear her yelling after me, apologies mixed with orders to turn around immediately and finish my job. Heedless of the fact that this will most likely get me fired, I slow to a walk as I pass the room where the Doyle's and their guests converse.

They do not notice me anyway, but I struggle to compose myself all the same as I pass the door-less opening. Once I am clear of their gazes my feet refuse to be slowed, and I am sprinting through the house and out the back door. Tears blind me as I run to the stable, blurring my vision so much that I can hardly tell where I am stepping. They roll down my cheeks as I burst through the wooden door, breathing raggedly.

I am still for a moment, as calm comes over me temporarily. Then the hurt is back and I am crying once more, wiping uselessly at my face with the shabby dress that hangs off of my body.

I continue on to where I know Kartik will be, though how he can help me, I have no idea. Just as usual, he is sitting by Ginger, feeding her an apple from his own dinner. Love gushes out of my chest as I look upon him, then I remember Gemma, and the hot flow hardens into cold rock.

He looks up at me and smiles just as I feel my expression go from warm to broken to furious. Confusion flashes over his face, and then I am upon him.

"How can you love her?" I yell, feeling my voice crack midway through the accusation.

"Why..." I start, then fade off as he looks on me in alarm and total shock.

"Who, Emily?"

I clench my fists at my sides and wrestle down my heartbeat, which has skyrocketed until the thumping in my chest becomes fully audible.

"Her!" I say loudly, pointing a finger in the direction of the house.

"That rich, spoilt, English whore!"

His face is unreadable for a moment, though I can tell that he is still suspended in shock and wonder.

"Emily, why on earth are you so pent up about this? You've known for some time now." I glare at him, wondering how he could be so horribly cruel.

"I'm pent up because I've loved you for months, and you're to busy with that arrogant bitch to even spare me a second glance!"

Anger. I see it rising inevitably in him, and yet still I plough onwards.

"Wh- why can't you look at me as more than a stupid maid?!"

He swallows tightly and rises from the mound of hay. "Emily, I'm sorry. I never thought...."

He trails off, guilt shadowing the rage that I know he is holding back. "You never told me."

My shoulders are already slumping.

"Of course I never told you. You would have laughed it off."

Again he bows his head, and I know it is the truth.

"I'm so sorry, but- I love Gemma." A fire lights in his eyes, and I know that my insults were too bold. "You cannot say such things about her; you don't even know her."

Her swirling hair and emerald eyes enter my mind and my face is twisted into a scowl.

"I hate you," I whisper, and flee the stables as my heart shatters.


	3. Departed

I stumble aimlessly down a filthy street, attracting only a few glances, all of which are quickly turned away in favour of more interesting prospects. Hurt clouds my judgement thickly, and I find myself wondering why I am even still on this earth. What use has God for a heart-broken servant girl, now that he has had her crushed by the only person that meant something to her?

There is no point in asking, so I push that thought away and wallow in self-pity. It is sad, but I cannot think of one reason to continue my life, at least not in the Doyle household. Working there can only deepen the hurt. I resolve not to return, ever.

I may not have a chance of ever forgetting Kartik and what he has done to me, but I can at least dull the pain, stow away his memory in a seldom-visited part of my own mind. Yet such a feat seems unreachable now, in the time where the scattered pieces of my heart are still quivering and jabbing painfully at me.

_Emily, _I say to myself, _when did you become so _weak_? _

_When that cold-hearted bastard decided I was not worth even pretending for. _

My last words to Kartik are true at the moment, but I know that I cannot despise him for long. Love doesn't just burn out like that, if indeed it was love I felt for him. And what else could it have been?

I moan involuntarily as I think of what a mess I am, what I have made of my life.

Couldn't I have just _liked _Kartik, and fallen for a simple boy without an English lover?

_Of course not, Emily. You always make the worst of everything in your life. _

How true. I could not even secure the love of my own family, who practically disowned me in favour of my younger sister. Liza has always been more noticable, with her golden hair and big dark eyes. She laughs more than me, too. My sister is carefree in every aspect; she has never had to worry in her life, and it shows in her young energetic face and ever-present smile. She is five years younger than me, and I know for a fact that Mum and Da never planned on her birth, yet they love her so much more.

While they cuddled and babied her, I worked for our food, hiring myseld out to do the most dispicable jobs. I was simply lucky that I was not appealing to men seeking bought love, for surely if there had been a chance my parents would have sold me off to them. I nearly shudder at the thought.

Liza. Merely another person who stole love from me, love that I had expended and was never returned. It does not take a strong will to hate such a person. Gemma and Liza are the ones I focus the burning rage on, not Kartik or Mum or Da. _The_y were simply bewitched by the untrue charm that was thrown upon them. A charm I never posessed. No one loves me, and never will.

Just then I spot a dark alleyway and turn into it, uncaring of what could find me in the hidden passageway. The walls are high and forbidding, piles of trash dashed against them. Rodents scurry before me feet, squeaking desperately as they flee from the sound of my footsteps. I see a tiny one by chance, it's small shape barely recognizable. I crouch down and pick it up by the tail, ignoring it's pathetic sounds of panic.

As if I am in a dream, I study it slowly. It's writhing, twisting bulk is unreal. I rise and begin walking again, holding the struggling rat tightly. I pinch it's tail and it tries to bend on itself to bite me, but I shake it around a bit, jarring the tiny animal. I come unexpectedly to the end of the alley, which has been much shorter than it seemed. I have emerged into a street even more shadowy and dirt-ridden than the first. It seems to be inhabited, so I take a reluctant step out of the shadows, my common sense returning slightly.

The rat still fights me, and I look on it with pity, my least favourite emotion.

"Poor thing," I whisper insincerely.

Suddenly a group of boys steps out of a beaten up door, crowding out onto the street. There are four of them, all dressed in poor clothing. They are bigger than me, and I guess the whole group to be around seventeen, though one stands nearly a head taller than the rest, and his trousers are too short for him. As I scrutinize them, a faint warning borders on the edge of my brain. I realize that a lone girl in this neighborhood will be irrestistible bait for the raucous boys.

Too late. One's head is moving around on his shoulders, apparently bored with whatever his friends are discussing. Finally, his eyes land on me, and widen considerably. I look at his smashed-in face and see thorough disbelief for a moment, then he turns away from me to alert his friends. I take this oppurtunity to melt back into the shadows, my common sense returning in full blast.

Perhaps I can still escape. My grip on the rat's tail loosens, and he somehow manages to scurry up onto my arm. I scream chillingly, and he bites into my forearm viciously, small body hanging to my flesh. I gasp in another mouthful of air and grab him, throwing the rodent off of my body in a frenzied movement. Panic returns at the worst of times, mixed with the stinging, scalding pain of the bite. I remember the boys, but they do not fully register as a threat compared to the dark alley full of rats, who I imagine are all preparing to ambush me if I dare to flee back to the main road. Foolishly, I sprint back the direction I came, back to the light.

My face is turned behind me as I barrel straight into the chest of my waiting attacker. I am knocked flat on my back, winded by the unexpected impact. The gray sky above me shows nothing, only tiny black dots that I am sure are being generated by my own mind. I begin to scramble back, but a grubby hand takes hold of my dress, yanking me forwards and up by the collar, which rips substansially. I squeak in alarm and work my limbs into the air, trying to fight them off, but the boys have surrounded me, and attacking them shall only lead to more pain on my behalf.

I stand up by myself, looking around at them. The big one is in front of me like a brick wall, while Pig-Face stands to my right, sneering in triumph. The other two are more lanky, but cold menace gleams in the eyes of the boy on my left, unhidden in the icy blue depths. I spin around and stare at the cow-eyed boy behind me.

He is trying to glare but it is to strenuous for him, and sweat beads up on his brow as I watch. He wrinkles his nose and looks me over. Cow-Eye, Pig-Face and Brick are obviously the followers, and I sense that it must have taken quite an explanation from the ring-leader over there to get them to circle me like this. I find a small comfort in these nicknames and still the trembling that has overtaken me body.

"What do you want?" I demand icily, glaring at the ring-leader, whose nickname sounds much too jovial to be applied to it's owner.

"Jus' a visit, darlin'," he responds coolly, and I feel my resolve wavering already. He seems to know that I cannot be fearless.

"I need to be home soon," I state plainly, and Pig-Face bursts into a spell of laughter. Leader glances at him witheringly.

"What Billy over there means is, we decide when you need to be home. Got it?"

I stare him down valiantly, thinking myself brave until he steps in towards me and raises his hand. In the next moment I am back on the ground, my face numb and tingly. I expect the pain will come later.

Three of the boys are chuckling, and I stagger up uncertainly. Leader continues as if nothing has happened, but his eyes are even harder. "You see, the boys and I are feeling a bit... bored, if you know what I mean." I look at him inpassively and then glance around, wondering what he is planning. Then I see the bulge in Cow-Eye's pants, and blanch. My face goes pale and clammy, and I look back at Leader, terrified.

"Please," I say, regretingly my boldness. "Just let me go."

"We will. That is after we've had our fun with you, eh, boys?" They cheer in agreement, and I feel the circle closing in around me.

"P-please." I stammer, but they take no notice. Leader puts his hand on my arm, and I flinch, avoiding his eyes.

"Sorry, hon," he says without meaning it, and grabs me around the waist. He addresses his posse casually. "Hit the road, boys."

They look a bit disappointed, especially Cow-Eyes, who glares at his leader before taking a step back. Pig-Face doesn't seem to mind, and I resolve that his interest must lie in men. Come to think of it, Brick seemed like the sort he would be interested in. I struggle to keep my face from erupting into a smile at the thought, because it will surely earn me another slap, or maybe a punch this time.

I wish that I could pinch myself and wake up in my own bed, but it will not happen, and the nightmare gets worse as the trio leaves and I am alone with Leader. He regards me with a horrid grin and then he begins attempting to drag me out of the alley's mouth and onto the sidewalk.

Despite my over-whelming fear, a surge a panic emerges from it all and I lash out furiously as adrenaline rushes into my limbs. I force my gawky legs to aim for his groin, and before I know it Leader is writhing in pain on the ground before me, curses pouring from his mouth in a vain attempt to channel his pain. His hands automatically make a cup over the tender spot I have viciously attacked, and his back arches as if he is trying to throw the agony off of his body like on old shabby coat.

My body has become frozen as I stare at him for several moments, then he rises to his knees with murder in his eyes, and my fast-running blood goes cold. I am shocked into motion, and I daringly give him an extra kick to the gut before forcing myself to run back into the dark passageway from whence I came. My eyes stay on his curled figure for as long as possible, then I am focused on finding my way home without pausing from my wild sprint. I stumble through the blackness for an eternity, though, before the light rushes up to me and I am back on the main street, breathing heavingly.

Not far enough. My feet blur into motion again, and don't stop until I am nearly dragging myself back into the stables. It is absurdly pathetic that this is the first place my frenzied mind takes me after the horrifying ordeal, and as I slouch onto the straw I realize I'm no longer welcome here. But I cannot move; my weariness is too great.

How long it takes me to catch my breath is a mystery, but finally I am sitting upright on the makeshift chair, wishing that the last few hours had never happened. Perhaps it is just best to return to my work and use mind-numbing labour to wipe it all from my mind. Yes. That's exactly what I'll do.

I rise from the hay- but it's too late to escape the nightmare, at least the emotional part of it. Kartik appears in the doorway, and for a split second I recognie something fiery in his eyes. His liquid curls are messed and I see that his trousers are on backwards. For a moment he looks just like a romantic boy, then his dark skin tints burgoundy and he blinks away the passion in his eyes, letting it be replaced by pity.

"Emily," he says. "I'm very sorry, but..." he looks away for a second, and I can tell that he isn't nearly cruell enough to say the words, but he does. "You shouldn't come here anymore."

I swallow back the tears in my eyes, but they simply rise without calling; I still feel a need to correct him, tell him that I did not come here to beg for his love.

"That's not-"

"Please," he interrupts, looking as if he cannot stand my presence any longer. "Just go."

His voice is quiet and regretful, and I can see that nothing I say will change the fact that he is cutting me off in favour of Gemma Doyle.

I limp slightly as I approach him, touching my face withlight fingers as I take in the unnatural texturer of my forming bruise. Kartik notices my injuries for the first time, and I see his beautiful eyes widen fractionally, the only display of emotion he will allow himself. I can see that he is dying to ask, but I remain silent as I stop in front of him.

Pleading shines through me however I try to conceal it with dignity. Now Kartik turns his head away, refusing to acknowledge that I am even alive. We stand in silence as time stands still in the space between us. It is like a showdown, though one-sided. Just like my love for him.

In a subtle movement I shake my head and wish I could have despised Kartik from the start.

Then the hopeless moment is whisked away and I push past him, struggling not to actually let my body touch his. I barely succeed, but as soon as he is behind me I am running, straight out of the stables and across the gardens, my feet hitting the earth audibly. My ragged breath surrounds me, and it is almost a relief to burst into the house, where actual sounds interrupt my small, retracting universe. I can hear quiet words in the parlour as I pass, and tinny clangs come from the kitchen doors, muffled by the thick oak.

Yet no one crosses my path as I shoot unnoticed through the house. Only the colourful paintings of Gemma's ancestor's watch me with their oily, exaggerated eyes. I take the stairs two at a time at a mad pace, nearly blind as I turn Gemma's doorknob and enter the room cautiously. Thankfully, Gemma is not currently inside her room, and I let out a small sigh of relief. Although, if I had listened closely instead of throwing myself into immediate panic, I would have recognized Gemma's strong tones among those that had blurred around me as I had sped through the household.

I zip into the room and straight to Gemma's warbdrobe, knowing suddenly that I could not be caught, or else have to stay here in torture and punishment. I fling the doors open and sift through lascious gowns until I reach the back, where Gemma's older, shabbier dresses hang forlornly like discarded love letters. I grab several from their hangers and fold them over my arm, knowing that they will not be missed for a good while.

Even so, it gives me the giddy feeling that I am somehow besting Gemma, taking her dresses to start my new life. For that is exactly what it shall be. I know not where to go, but it cannot be so difficult. Anything is better than this.

I finish pilfering the great stash of clothes and shut the doors firmly as a precaution, then I move back to the door and leave that big luxurious room for the last time with one last glance back at the foor poster bed and large windows. The sheets on top of Gemma's huge mattress are messed and balled up, and with a surge of rage I realize just where Kartik had been while I had sat alone in the stables. Just as I come down from the high that has me doing ridiculous things, I am shooting back up again, using my newfound energy to make my way back down the stairs and through the hallway with reckless speed.

I almost make a detour to the kitchen to say a final goodbye to Mrs. Jones, but then I realize that I will have to go without a farewell from her, for if she finds out what I plan to do, I'll never be able to leave.

I turn away from the familiar doors and go to the back exit, finding it more and more difficult to move with the dresses draped over my arm and shoulder. I push on, though, leaving that gigantic house like the mouse I am, fleeing from the hurt this family has brought me.

I pass the stables in no time, without even a glance at where I know Kartik is standing, though his back is to me. He will not even notice me passing behind him, because he is too busy grooming a horse with soft words and a thick brush. I try not to stomp past him, though we're far enough away that he will not hear my footsteps.

After what seems like years of keeping my gaze from him, I finally turn and begin walking backwards, staring at his lovely figure as I flee. When Kartk finally disappears, a single tear slips from my eye before I can detain it, then I turn around with a swipe at my face and begin walking quickly away from the only boy I'll ever love.

_No more crying, Emily, _I tell myself.

_Forget him. _

_It is time to start anew._

* * *


End file.
